Thranduils Wife
by tigershepp
Summary: Discover the untold story of an Elvenking's wife, at the dawn of the Third Age. Long before the Dwarves even settled into Erebor, ahead of Laketown's formation, a tragic yet brief love story unfolds. A lonely Sindarin Elf, Thranduil of Greenwood, falls in love with a thoughtful girl.
1. Introduction

**Introduction**

There was a smooth, crisp breeze on this particularly sunny afternoon, signaling a soon coming autumn. The outskirts of the Woodland Realm were surrounded by a gloriously hedged garden, blooming forth flowers of various colors, overflowing with butterflies and birds among other wildlife. For this was unlike any dark Mirkwood we have ever seen or known, this was Greenwood.

Thranduil stood gallantly under an ornate stone archway alongside Gerand, his Captain of the Royal Guard, proposing strategies to relocate combat training from well-trodden grounds to vacant, grassier fields. While affairs throughout Middle Earth seemed relatively peaceful, the Elfking and his Captain were not keen on leaving themselves defenseless; these two were known for being well prepared. Whether a compromise had gone awry between Thranduil and another, or an unskilled Elf had overstepped his bounds, individuals regularly brought their grievances to the doorstep of the woodland realm.

As Gerand began trailing off on one of his traditional rants, a pair of Bluebirds suddenly burst out from a flowering vine alongside the northeast entrance. Thranduil quickly turned his focus toward the trailing plant, moving silently and swiftly while his companion, staring off at a mountain range, continued rambling in regards to stern discipline. The rustling leaves suddenly grew still, as a tiny giggle grew more negligible from just within the hedge. The Elfking knelt down before the brush, in curiosity, promptly spreading the leaves apart with both of his genteel hands.

"Hello?" Thranduil asked, captivated.

The giggling softened as a muted, anxious creature turned to meet him.

"I'm sorry." came a whisper.

"Are you in distress? Are there any means by which I may help you? Come," he paused, "please step into the light. _Amin vesta il- cron- llei_."

As the individual approached Thranduil, long blonde hair came into view, softly framing a squared face. Sunlight gently kissed a pair of bright amber eyes, which glistened like gold, as they peered out from beneath the foliage. The Elfking was taken aback by the beauty of this human child, instinctively reaching out toward her.

Once standing, the little girl brushed away the leaves and dirt which had collected in her skirt, and bowed to the royalty before her.

"Thank you, your majesty." she mumbled, nervously.

"Where have you come from?" questioned Thranduil, "We must return you home, _yassen ascaii_."

"My Father has made camp just ahead of the river," the girl motioned toward Esgaroth and continued,

"his army is scouting well beyond your bounds, toward Erebor."

"His army... is your Father the Captain?"

"No, he organizes our people without title, as we have been pushed out of our former dwellings."

" _Ner ve' y' aran, san'iii_." he thought to himself, " _Ai eriv_ , what is your name?" Thranduil pressed.

She peered at him silently, thinking before answering, "Rônivale. But you may call me Rôn."

"I am King Thranduil. _Saesa omentien llev_." he replied, bowing slightly, "We must set upon returning you to your Father, at once."

Within the hour, Thranduil found himself upon his tall, russet Friesian, escorting Rôn back to her campgrounds. The Elfking wanted to ensure her safe return, and quickly departed from the Kingdom without alerting the watchkeep. As she held tight to her companion, Rôn described the purplish flowers and woodland animals she favored within his gardens. And before long, she realized how suddenly they were approaching the newly-built guard post of her camp.

"Halt!" a demanding figure commanded from his post, now standing in the path of Thranduil's stallion.

"I am returning something of yours. Step aside, " Thranduil's presence, although striking, did little to alarm the rigid guard.

The man stood his ground, grasping a beaten sword, flashing two fingers in the air. Another man atop the tower blew a horn in two long bursts, followed by two short bursts. Before long, the repetition of hooves, galloping in unison, drew closer as Rôn sat shaking behind her guide.

" _Suula tumbavii,_ stay calm." Thranduil reassured her, "All is well, _Kertaviii_."

Five armored horsemen quickly converged, atop chestnut Finnhorses. The guardsman returned to his post beneath the tower, as five horses slowed to a trot to face the newcomer. Observing the Elf's fine robes and adornments of nobility, the lead rider dismounted. Upon approach, with closer inspection, the leader took notice of a rather small figure, accompanying the emotionless rider.

"Rônivale?" the man questioned, clenching his fists.

"Father." Rôn pulled her velvety hood down around her shoulders, glancing at the ground.

Turning toward his daughter's aide, he began to introduce himself, "I am Colborn, son of Frey, son of Brynjar." he brought his right fist to his chest with a sigh of relief, and raised his head toward Thranduil, "It seems I have misplaced my daughter, Rônivale."

" _Mae govannenix._ Thranduil, son of Oropher, Elvish King of Greenwood." he replied, callously.

Nodding, Colborn walked over to the magnificent mount, reaching toward his daughter. Rônivale dismally leaned forward into her Father's grasp, returning again to the ground, smoothing out her skirt. She turned and curtsied Thranduil before running past the tower to find solace within her tent. Colborn followed in her footsteps to remount his horse, whistling before turning back to camp.

" _Tenna' ento lye omenta, tiri erx_." Thranduil whispered to himself.

Footnotes:

i I promise not to harm you (elvish)

ii With haste (elvish)

iii More like a King, then (elvish)

iv Little one (elvish)

v Pleasure meeting you (elvish)

vi Cowardly dog (elvish)

vii Breathe deep (elvish)

viii Rune (elvish)

ix Well met (elvish)

x Until next we meet, bright one (elvish)


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter One

Countless days passed through Thranduil's kingdom, as his zeal continued to fade. Although he found himself meeting with a myriad of Kings and various leaders, training an additional steed and drafting cavalrymen with Capt. Gerand, he felt empty. The thought of the little girl he had met in the garden lingered in the back of his mind, as though they had just met yesterday afternoon. In silence, many evenings were spent alone in his throne room, staring off at the bookshelves and grand staircases surrounding him. And yet, some small hope remained.

Many seasons ran back around to spring time, and the garden was once again abuzz with life; overflowing with color. Bluebirds had brought forth new babies, expanding their nests, while doe continued on with tradition by raising their fawn in the overgrown eastern fields. The Elfking had begun taking regular walks through the northeastern gardens, observing the vines and foliage, paying special attention to the abundant Aster; Rôn's favorite.

" _Kerta, lle sila tiri.i_ " Thranduil's words whispered away with the wind.

"Sir." Suddenly Captain Gerand knelt behind him, striking his right arm across his chest.

He did not turn his gaze to greet him, " _Mani naa ta?ii_ " the Elfking commanded, feeling resentful.

"A campsite to the east has been attacked by rogue Orcs. They sent for reinforcements." He replied.

Thranduil's icy blue eyes widened with interest as he gazed toward the bend in the river, observing distant billows of smoke. Although many years had kept him from visiting this region, he was quite capable of recalling it's exact location.

"Surely not", he thought to himself. " _Lle desiel_?iiiFetch my stallion, I shall lead a small group of men to their gates." Thranduil replied, bidding him leave with a wave of his hand.

Astride his prized Friesian, the Elfking led ten foot soldiers to Colborn's camp. Smoke continued to grow toward the sky, and flames were still among most of the tents, but all fell quiet as the Elves stepped through the lonesome gates. Bodies lay strewn about everywhere; a bloody mangle of disembodied men and Orcs scattered all over. The group continued to march, spreading out in search of any survivors or pillaging creatures.

One final stitch gave way on a raggedy flag as it ripped away from a pole, fiercely moving through the wind before landing directly in Thranduil's path. He dismounted to retrieve the flag, observing nothing in particular as to the meaning of it's design or color. Still, it intrigued him enough to follow the direction from whence it came, a Captain's tent. The King checked the faces of each deceased individual he passed by as he walked, but no one looked familiar, and nobody had been left alive.

" _Mankoi naa amin sinome, manka ere' utu- ere' ba_? _iv_ " Thranduil yelled, his anger growing with each dead person he uncovered; yet he persisted.

Eventually, he found himself at the Captain's tent, from which the flag had departed. Bodies were piled out front, and the door had been ripped away, but, as he knelt down to walk through, he detected a living being within. Quickly, without thought, Thranduil tossed aside tables and picked up bookshelves before finally pulling a dead Orc off of the fading survivor. It wasn't until turning the man over did he realize he had recovered Colborn.

Barely alive, he coughed, clenching his impaled chest, "Elfking?"

Thranduil acknowledged with a nod, "Where may we find your daughter?"

He waited patiently as the man took a shallow breath, "They took her."

"Who?!" The King demanded, angrily, hoping somehow that this was all a dream.

Colborn struggled to answer, "To... the... mountain..." he grasped the King's arm, wheezing in a last ditch effort to comply, "Please find her..." and he was gone.

Standing, tall as he was able, Thranduil frantically searched the tent for any clues regarding Colborn's last words. He hoped to perhaps locate a letter, plan of attack or relocation effort, only to come up empty handed. As he began to exit the tent, the Elfking glanced back at the slain Father and wondered if the destruction of the entire camp was solely due to the simple greed of one man, or possibly something more. What could a few insignificant Orcs possibly want with a young girl?

The breeze continued to blow a mixture of smoke, ash and pieces of ripped fabric through impatient gusts. Elves continued searching for survivors as an eerily quiet peace fell upon the destruction. Thranduil continued looking within tents, finding nothing, and leaving the countless dead. Not one living creature was uncovered, aside from a few straggling horses nervously pacing the edge of the nearby silent river.

Upon entering one of the final tents, Thranduil noticed it was left rather untouched. Most of the contents appeared to be intact and unaffected, carefully arranged in a pleasing manner. A familiar velvety purple cape hung on a peg by the door to his left, and a crackled vase sat on a dresser to his right, filled with dried grasses and a few preserved Aster. He reached out to touch the brittle petals, which were not natural to the region. Continuing to search the living quarters, among seemingly worthless trinkets, the Elfking recovered a locket and leather journal. He placed both safely within an inner pocket of his silk robes and turned to exit.

Thranduil whistled for his horse and inspected the sky, observing an increasing chilling darkness. Sunset was approaching, and he knew his men didn't have the resources to scout wilderness through the night. Even the King himself had not come prepared for such venture, and he made the decision for all to return to Greenwood, for now. The Captain would organize a fresh group of troops to depart at the break of day, when their efforts could continue. Against every fiber in his being, Thranduil waved his gloved hand in the air toward Greenwood, to direct his men, and began the short ride home.

Such an evening was spent in vain as Thranduil paced about, peering out windows and avoiding sleep. His mind refused to let him rest while he daydreamed of every possible outcome of their approaching search. To give himself peace of mind, Thranduil took the short walk to his armory to inspect his weapons of choice. His sword was found to be freshly sharpened and polished, resting alongside matching daggers, all in expected pristine condition.

He grasped the leather wrapped handle of an ornate sword with his hand and swung it around in perfectly calculated swipes and jabs. Many days of his childhood had been spent within the walls of this arsenal, training and learning to become a skilled leader in combat. Oropher, Thranduil's Father, expected flawlessness from every armed Elf, especially his own son. This katana was no exception, having been handcrafted toward the graceful, hairsplitting fighting manner of the, then, Elf Prince.

Once Thranduil had had enough sword preparation, he withdrew to his bed chambers. But not for sleep, not even for comfort, but rather to explore the inner pages of Rôn's recovered journal. After retrieving it from his bedside table, he sat down to carefully thumb through its contents. The sorrel leather cover, and binding, were well worn, adorned with a hand carved cursive "R" on the bottom right corner. Although the Elfking may not have found notes or plans as he hoped, what he did discover was all the more interesting.

Another preserved purple Aster welcomed Thranduil on the front page, accompanied by the simple caption "Kerta", in carefully structured calligraphy. Following pages contained large and detailed illustrations of deer, fawn, the Elfking's garden archway and finally, his most favorite stallion. A few poems followed random drawings and dark toned lyrics, leading him to the final page. A mere outline of a tall and slender elf, decorated in a braided circlet and naturalistic rings, grasped a perfectly straight staff. The illustration's piercing gaze stared straight off the page into Thranduil's very soul.

Long, slender fingers traced the uneven paper edges before gently closing the journal. A brief smile faded away upon realization that Rôn had most certainly been visiting the gates of Thranduil's garden for some time, perhaps regularly over the lengthy years. Had he not been so wrapped up in self loathing, he might have noticed her presence rather than shutting himself away to a solemn existence. Quite suddenly the Elfking set the book in it's new resting place on top of his bedside cabinet, in consideration of the approaching messenger.

"King Thranduil." a soldier promptly presented himself, as sunlight quickly peeked over the mountain's horizon off in the distance. "Your troops are ready to move forward with today's mission, as soon as the Elfking gives his command." The Elf bowed his head and stepped back, just outside of the doorway.

Footnotes:

i Rune, you shine bright (elvish)

ii What is it? (elvish)

iii Are you ready? (elvish)

iv Why am I here, if only to find the dead? (elvish)


	3. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

Rôn's time was regularly spent completing dismal tasks, such as lending a hand with campsite laundry or mending duties, in addition to meal prep. Not much time was given for her favorite hobbies throughout the day, such as sketching and drying wildflowers for her collection. She continued taking each opportunity to sneak outside the guarded gates, but they had become less frequent over the years. Her Father, Colborn, had begun catching onto her adventures more quickly than she had hoped for.

During the early morning hours, with just enough dimmed light before daybreak, Rôn slipped past the guardsmen by avoiding torches and sources of artificial light along the perimeter. Although Colborn had not yet returned to his tent from evening patrol, Rôn was confident he wouldn't check on her living quarters again, at least until after he'd caught up on sleep. He had always been a creature of habit, even more so after his wife was taken from him.

When the sun began peeking over the mountains, Rôn found herself situated within Greenwood's garden walls once again, just as she had many times before. The Bluebirds had finally grown fond of her presence over time, and were comfortably settled above her head in their nest, feeding three babies. A mother deer was leading a pair of twin fawns on the far end of the garden, as Rôn whipped out her notebook to quickly sketch an outline for detailing later on. Too many things caught her attention at once, and she had become accustomed to adding finishing touches right before tucking into bed each night.

The day turned to tea time, and the changing of the Elvish guard for the afternoon commenced. A table was carefully set up beside the archway, accented by a crocheted lace cloth, while finger foods and drinks were arranged in perfect order. Wait staff stepped aside as an auburn-haired Silvan Elf led Thranduil to his seat. No one arrived to join his table, not even one member of staff dared to step out of line, while he took his tea in bitter silence.

Rôn watched the Elfking intently from the safety of her thornless vines, continuing to add outlines to several of her unlined pages. Many times she had longed to walk out into the sunlight, if only to join him for tea or one of his regular walks down a mossy garden path. She knew exactly what moves he would make next as Thranduil stood from the table, tossing a gold trimmed napkin onto an empty plate. His long flowing silver robes swept the cobblestone as he turned in Rôn's direction toward the Aster.

"Good afternoon, _Kertai_." He would whisper, glancing toward the stone trimmed plot.

"Those must be his favorite, too." Rôn thought, "They're always his first stop after tea."

She would stay rather still to continue observing the following habits. He would kneel before the Aster clusters, tediously wiping each petal in search of bugs for removal, before checking soil for weeds. Thranduil would practically rearrange the flowers with his fingers, by gently pushing them together before spreading them back out in an airy fashion. If he spoke, it would be directly into any given blossom, as if they had some personal connection. It always astounded Rôn, his joy for plants, and her appreciation for the flower, grew.

"If I were more brave, I would step out directly and ask him to share his floral wisdom." Rôn thought of Thranduil in awe, as though he must be a master gardener, " _Kertaii_."

Rather than follow her impulses, Rôn would patiently wait within the lush green hideaway for the Elfking to wrap up his detailing rounds before returning to the confines of his Kingdom. Only then, while the guard was changing for the evening shift, would she slip out in silence for the short jaunt home. Her journal safely secured inside her apron pocket, alongside an owl feather pen, bouncing around with each stride. Rôn fully expected each visit to be her last, knowing her Father followed the same standard protocol each time she would reach the guard tower.

Colborn stood in the path of the entrance, expecting his daughter to soon come into view. He always wondered where she would venture off to, and if a day would come when she might not return at all. Once her familiar silhouette was barely visible in the twilight, he would cross his arms over his chest, and angle his face upward just a bit. And, when Rôn would finally stop just in front of him, he'd stare down his nose at her, awaiting some fruitless exchange upon asking where she had disappeared to.

"Rôn." Colborn began, "We discuss this on a regular basis. I don't know where you have gone, or how long you have been out there..." he deemed, pointing toward Greenwood, "but it worries me when you disappear."

Rôn would simply nod in response.

"And now you are old enough to assume responsibility for yourself. You are the age of your Mother when we married, and she did not venture off into the wilderness seeking whatever it is you search for. I cannot let this continue and wake up to find myself without a daughter, too." he roared.

"I'm sorry. There are so many interesting and beautiful things waiting to be discovered, none of which exist within the security of your campgrounds." she would explain, respectfully.

"Rônivale! I could not care less as to what you have discovered, or whom you have come across. So, from now on, you will remain in your tent until Daliah comes to escort you to and from your chores each day. No more of _this_." He waved his arms in the air, as Colborn had grown angry and tired of these useless conversations, and hoped each would be the last, "Ever since that Elfking brought you home so many years ago, you have never been the same. I should have slain him where he stood."

Sure of his intuition, that an Elf had ruined his daughter's obedient heart, Colborn led a tearful Rôn back to her tent. He ensured she was situated and locked in for the evening, but decided against joining night watch until the guard he'd ordered was positioned in front of her door. Only after the armed young man had arrived for his new duties, did Colborn feel comfortable leaving her shelter.

Rôn was still able to find activities to fill her time within the walls of this fine tuned, personal prison. The tent was a better situation compared to the other jail cells her Father had put together for actual criminals, but the idea remained the same. Thankfully, though, Colborn had never thought to search her pockets or collect any possessions, and Rôn would keep everything she could carry home. With each escapade she brought back one more Aster blossom to add to the dresser top vase; one of the only things formerly belonging to her Mother. Only then, would she finally lay on her bed to perfect the sketch detailing she had frantically penned out earlier on.

Tomorrow would bring new challenges as she grew determined to stick to her Father's unreasonable orders. Never had she been sure that he was right, but she preferred not to lose the last remaining member of her family. Before closing her eyes for the evening, she imagined her Mother was there one last time, singing a song. The words had faded long ago, but Rôn could clearly recall the melody.

Soon she would drift off to sleep in memory, dreaming of that unfortunate day. The nightmare always started out a little hazy, replaying a happier time Rôn could barely remember. Everyone was sitting around a table within their cozy homestead: Colborn, her Mother Trônah, older brother Dane and the family dog, who's name she'd forgotten long ago. They would all be enjoying a large meal of stuffed turkey, resting aside all kinds of trimmings. Candles flickered in the background, when suddenly the chickens broke all silence with cackling and panicked rustling.

Colborn would stand up and follow the frantic dog to the door, who'd promptly raise each hair on the back of his neck, and start growling. Rôn's Father would turn the door knob and just barely get it open a few inches before armed guards forced their way in. The biggest one took to attacking Colborn, first, knocking him out cold in front of the fireplace. They hastily confiscate Dane, and violently drag Trônah outside by her hair, kicking and screaming. Rôn sought safety under a low side table, out of sight as everything she held dear was being ripped away.

After Colborn finally regained consciousness, swiftly sitting upright, he started asking questions as to the whereabouts of his wife and son. Unable to answer, Rôn burst into uncontrollable tears, clinging to her Father's flannel shirt. Colborn ran outside, tearing away his daughter's grip, only to let out blood curdling screams of panic after discovering his wife's lifeless body lying beside the bird coop. His son was never seen again.

Though it never turns out to be a long story once it's written out or told aloud, time would slow to a near halt during Rôn's slumber. And while Colborn had never confessed to his daughter what had caused her Mother's death, she could piece enough together to realize she should not pursue the topic any further. It wasn't long after the incident that many residents, including Rôn and her Father, faced prison time and took the opportunity to flee, re-homing themselves to their current campgrounds.

Just as Rôn began the next stages of her dream, including the first time she met Thranduil, an uneasy presence suddenly awoke her. Rôn arose silently, giving her eyes a moment to adjust to the darkness, realizing that even the most distant torches of the camp perimeter had gone out. Heavy footsteps were going in every direction outside of her tent, and the clash of weaponry made themselves known as large shadows jumped back and forth.

Before she could think to hide herself somewhere, or sneak out under the back side of her tent, someone snatched her from behind and quickly threw a dark bag over her head. She wasn't hurt, but was quickly disoriented as they tossed her over the back of an animal, and led through the mayhem of whatever raid was taking place in her camp. By the time her head was finally clear enough to yell for help, her attempts were muffled by multiple layers weighted on top of her.

"Father! Help me!" She screamed. But even she was not quite sure what was audible, if anything.

Footnote:

i Rune (elvish)

ii Rune (elvish)


	4. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

White horsemen rode toward Erebor in magnificent formation, trailing Gerand and leading Thranduil into deep wilderness. The soldier's coordinating armor cast a golden shimmer to the ground, as the group progressed toward their target's position. Each Elf had been hand selected according to individual tracking abilities and covert fighting techniques. This mission was far from any bargaining arrangement, as Thranduil simply wanted to rescue Colborn's daughter with the least amount of resistance.

The majestic Lonely Mountain stood in a majestic haze, gradually coming into view with each impending hoof strike. Erebor had remained a rather solemn hideaway, used primarily by thieves and wanted transgressors wishing to disappear. No one had kept the mountain as a stable homestead, mostly because of it's lack of natural resources, such as water or fertile soil. And although the heart of the mountain was known to bring forth jewels, and precious metals, it had, for the most part endured ,as a well kept secret by the Elves and transitory residents.

Maintaining his regal composure, Thranduil and his accompanying Elves, approached a nearing distance of 35 yards. Keen ears immediately began to pick up the clash of metal, along with rustling movements under the mountain's surrounding brush. Swords struck armor and shields, as lifeless bodies and severed limbs hit the ground in disturbing thuds. Upon pulling the reigns, followed by a quick commanding hand signal, each horse came to a sudden halt. Thranduil dismounted, simultaneously sprinting toward the cover of a freshly downed tree. His men complied synchronously, acquiring their own sources of camouflage throughout the turmoil.

Something rather large had recently passed around the rocky perimeter, trampling a path over twisted undergrowth and splintered wood. The scent of Orc lingered in a slight breeze, accompanied by an awfully putrid smell of Cave Troll. Footprints of men and horses mingled alongside those of Orc, Troll and Goblin, where an apparent chase had transpired. While the soldiers and Captain were cautiously sneaking through thick plants, vines and trees, Thranduil dashed from one object to another, dual wielding swords readily in hand. Utilizing their flawlessly polished blades to peer around boulders and trees, he targeted enemies for further pursuit and quick take down.

As he closed in on his prey, Thranduil began running up the incline of collapsed and decaying wood, before leaping down on top of a lone Orc; promptly slitting his throat and rolling to safety. To prevent being seen, the Elfking continued climbing through broken branches and uprooted trees to air assassinate a number of Goblin, before landing in the middle of a rather large group. Thranduil extended both ornate blades as he ran in a large circle, slinging and swiping to behead each of the bombarding creatures, before disappearing back into the thicket once again.

For a brief moment, Thranduil turned his attention back toward the sound of an Elf wailing in agony. Amid the prompt diversion, Thranduil was instantly knocked off his feet. He fell backwards over 12', causing both swords to stray into leaves upon impact. A Cave Troll narrowed down his location by following the distinct, sharp blare of an alerting Orcish horn overhead. A mounted Orc advanced onto the flagged position, as blood trickled down Thranduil's brow from a freshly opened wound. After hastily wiping his forehead, feeling the sting of open skin, the Elfking stood grasping his only weapon and most favored katana. He struggled to focus through the aftermath of blurred vision, ringing ears and disoriented balance.

Suddenly the Cave Troll was at hand, preparing his club to come down with bludgeoning force upon the Elfking. Thranduil staggered to face his challenger when Gerand swooped in from the overhead canopy, knocking the imposing Troll to the ground; dagger cleaving his skull. Bewildered, the Cave Troll swung his club off kilter as his attention wandered between both the King and Captain. As the over-sized monster stepped backward to secure his footing, Thranduil ran him down, grasping gray skin and tattered cloth to climb atop the creature. Narrowly avoiding large hands waving to catch him, the King jumped onto his scalp and thrust his katana down through the Troll's skull. It's eyes instantly went blank, as the dead creature plunged to his knees, promptly tumbling to the ground.

"Sir, that was close." a winded Gerand commented, as Thranduil slid toward the patchy dirt from atop the Troll's arm, "Maybe we should maintain a more ideal distance between one another."

" _Amin naa tereva.i_ " Thranduil replied, once again, using the reflection of his blade to check on his head wound, "It's merely a scratch."

The Captain nodded, placing the King's recovered swords on a log next to him, and continuing on his path of enemy take-down. Thranduil held back for a moment, closing his eyes to refocus. He was all too aware of how close that attack had been, simply because he had left himself too vulnerable; lowering his guard in concern of Rôn's pursuit.

" _Amin estela amin utua he` e' coiasira_.ii" Thranduil thought despairingly.

Several more Orc horns began to sound alerts as the Captain led his men further into battle, while the King stood back assessing his next move. Though he wasn't sure how many enemies he had slain, it hadn't nearly been enough until he brought _her_ back to the safety of Greenwood in one piece. Feeling defeated, he began following the path of his soldiers, when several elvish trumpets joined in on a flurry of alerts; Thranduil picked up his pace.

Gerand found himself upon the total devastation of a small group of dwarves. Not many enemy bodies were spotted, and the straggling Orcs and Trolls had apparently removed themselves from the surrounding area. All fell quiet, and even the sound of enemy alerts drifted away into silence as Thranduil advanced upon their position, observing the multitude of death before them. The Elfking searched through piles of singed bodies and ash in hopes of recovering some sort of lead in regards to Rôn's captors, only to come up empty handed.

"This doesn't make any sense." the Captain commented, "How can a group of Orcs simply disappear?"

"Evil conjures up many ways to hide, concealed within plain sight." Thranduil answered, "All warfare is based on "

"You mean through use of spells and rings?" Gerand questioned.

Thranduil nodded, "The Realm of the Unseen. There's no time, we must move forward." He pointed toward a patch of bare earth, where someone had drawn a figure onto the ground.

"Indeed. Northward." the Captain signaled his men to follow Thranduil's steed.

A team of horses maneuvered together around rocks and trees, avoiding obstructed paths of destruction. Thranduil sent several wounded Elves back to Greenwood, in addition to those who'd fallen during combat, it effectively shrank his troupe to half it's original size. Regardless, the Captain firmly tailed their leader as he tracked something shrouded in darkness.

Considering the dragon he had found scrawled in the dirt, Thranduil's mind went directly to one place, the only location you would be certain to find such a monster. A forsaken valley rooted northward, nestled snugly between the fork lying East of the Grey Mountains, Withered Heath. Well known as breeding grounds for dragons, it was a rather isolated and friendless land. The surrounding earth was said to be burnt and charred as a result of wyvern mating rituals, scattered with scorched remains of conquered foes.

Thranduil's mind drifted from Rôn back to the people of Greenwood and, most importantly, to the returning wounded soldiers. How could he leave injured Elves to find their way back, unattended? And those who fell, during their brief encounter with Orcs, wouldn't receive the full honors they deserved as loyal troops. And worst of all, their trusted leader was chasing after some girl he had only briefly met, once. What does that say about an Elfking?

" _Manke uma amin loyalties risa?iv_ " Thranduil thought out loud.

" _Lle caela y' akh utu- he`v_ " Gerand responded, "Stop thinking on it so often."

" _Lye harwe caela n'uma aran a' elea sen_ "

"Our soldiers are highly trained, they have been through much worse than a short trek home without an escort." the Captain looked cross, " _Amin estela lle nowa ner en' amin roch_ "

"I fail to see how this looks badly on you, Gerand." Thranduil pulled taut on the reigns, slowing his horse from a cantor.

The sky, again, had grown dark, and six Silvan elves dismounted alongside their Sindarin royalty. Gerand hastily assembled a fire before spreading out his bedroll, and laying upon the ground. Quite the efficient Elf and unwavering Captain, he sat and watched embers jump out from the flames before being carried away in the damp breeze. Thranduil refused to join him in aimless slumber, and chose to pace at random, instead.

"Stop thinking about her," Gerand whispered, "long enough to sleep."

Thranduil nodded.

"Out of curiosity, sir, how do you know about the dragons in Withered Heath?"

"Wyverns are quite the temptation for a youth." he replied.

"Have you observed their existence in person, then?" The Captain continued to press the matter.

"Indeed." a smile spread across his face, "I had a foolish imagination." Thranduil didn't often reminisce about being a dragon slayer.

"You know, the sooner we sleep, the sooner we can continue along the path toward the valley of dragons. Why don't you roll out your mat?"

In concession, Thranduil attempted to doze off within the cradle of a large oak tree, defeated by thoughts of anguish he has caused. Not only have his duties within the woodland realm been completely undermined, but his beloved Aster might go untended. While they may not be entirely neglected, those delicate blooms would not be cared for with the same degree of precision and tenderness. He couldn't bare to dwell on any further gloomy thoughts, so he made an effort to abide in Rôn before slumbering. As he slowly drifted off to sleep, he pictured her beautiful face, and all seemed well in Middle Earth.

Footnotes:

i I am fine (elvish)

ii I hope I find her in time (elvish)

iii Sun Tzu, The Art of War (reference)

iv Where do my loyalties lie? (elvish)

v You have a duty to find her (elvish)

vi Our wounded have no king to see them home

vii I hope you think more of my horse men


End file.
